Drifting leaves, low clouds and woodlands splashed with such bright colors, takes your breath away. Just the natural beauty my soul needs for this moment of life. Here, after six decades, adrift like the leaves with nothing to cling to, nowhere to belong. Moody as the clouds would suggest, just gloomy feeling as I reflect on the past few weeks. Ah! but in my heart and mind, I am all aglow, I see a brightness of colors for the future----like a new canvas just prepared for strokes of beautiful colors, each adding to an image of wonder. I know this game, it is fall's way of reminding us of advancing age, a tease of still having possibilities and a hint of still a season to come into our life-winter.
Too often we elders look for signs of our aging, rather than for signs of opportunity. As I suggested in the paragraph above-sure it's fall, sure I am getting old, but just as sure-winter follows fall, then perhaps I still have a season to celebrate life. We must give back to those who follow, lessons we have learned, tell experiences we have lived, open our "remember rooms" and share with our loved ones or those who are close enough the wonderful memories we stored there in those once empty rooms. Now these rooms are our treasures, maybe only special to our self, but important and of value.
When do you get too old to dream? I think when you no longer need to breathe. When do you get too old to start a new project? Maybe when the doctor pronounces you dead. Give-give of your time, give of your experiences, but give. Sure you ache, sure you are on medication and have had to slow down but remember something I have observed in life. Watch a snail get from point to point----it is slow progress but if the snail is to survive it slips along as fast as it can go. You don't have to be fast to bring a smile to someone, to say hello, to stop and chat, you just have to slip along as fast as you can go.
Maybe you should start a new business, expand your hobby into an opportunity. Don't use the excuse of it would be too much work. Look at it as an opportunity to teach a young person a skill you have acquired during a lifetime of loving your hobby. Wouldn't it be nice to pass it on to someone you have learned to like, maybe a grandson or granddaughter. I find it peaceful to think that one day my son will have all my woodworking tools and he just might pass them on to his son. I have had great pleasure in acquiring them for my use and learning to be better at using them.
As a writer I always encourage those of you who are in advanced age to give your children the gift of your family history. Most of you know how to write, at least a letter to your children, or a favorite aunt or uncle, and at one time perhaps to your parents. When someone like me suggest you write your family history you get afraid and start with the excuses. You say you could never write something that hard. Let me suggest something that might help. Most of you, perhaps, have had very little opportunities to learn to write in a formal sense and I can understand how a task like I suggest might frighten you. You are not going to be graded, make it fun. Do this, write as if you were talking-you can talk can't you? You have been talking for decades, you should have it down pretty pat by now. Look how easy it can be, you call your granddaughter over and you start off like this: "Mary, come see grandmother." "I want to tell you how life was when I was your age." "Why, Mary, when I was your age I only had two dresses, can you believe that.?" "One to go to school and another to go to church." "Well,------------" All you do is talk, in this case just write it down as you talk, have copies made so you can hand them out. Still not convinced? Perhaps your hands shake too much-ask Mary to write as you tell the story or record it on a cassette. Don't let your children lose those wonderful experiences you have had in life. I have been meaning to ask, "How did you get that scar on your forehead?"
Several years ago an English teacher in the mountain country of North Carolina challenged his students to gather stories from the old folks living in those sparsely populated mountains. They wrote stories of how to make preserves, special dishes like chow chow, one even wrote a story on how to make a "still, a whiskey still". There were stories about drying lumber in old wood fired kilns or on making charcoal. These stories were eventually published in a book series known as "Foxfire". They are wonderful books, containing wonderful stories of how people lived in those mountains. Life was hard. I bet you have lived through some hard times and because you knew how to do certain things that are not important today, you managed to survive. Why don't you write the information down, donate copies to your library, but always give copies to your family. They will be fascinated that you knew how to do such things and be glad they won't live that experience.
Perhaps you are a veteran, and for years you were unable to talk about your experiences. I realize you experiencing the death of your comrades, or their mutilation is tough. Maybe you were so afraid at times you are embarrassed, sure you were afraid but you fought and we who have reaped the privilege of freedom you and your comrades provided, we thank you. I for one would love to know your story. And you wives left behind, you have a story too. What was it like to do without the comfort of your loved one, to raise children without their father, or to receive a telegram announcing the death of a loved one. You need to tell these stories so generations to come will better understand what it takes to live the traumas of life and still be able to have a smile on our aging faces.
Sure the leaves are turning reds, yellows and shades in between. Sure I found a new wrinkle on my aging face today. If I want a new painting, I must start with a new canvas. So in my future I have a new canvas-a canvas to paint the new experiences yet to come my way. I refuse to sit and wait until my winter comes and I go-I want to enter my "remember room" with new and fresh memories of just yesterday.
